


Cage Cathedral and Tomb

by Echo_4127



Category: own works - Fandom
Genre: I am most proud of this, I wrote this after watching season 4 of supernatural and had to let out some frustrations, Other, Religious themes ahead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:47:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28539096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Echo_4127/pseuds/Echo_4127
Summary: I'm just thinking too hard and need to vent in prose my bad. This is just a small idea and story dont mind me.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	Cage Cathedral and Tomb

**Author's Note:**

> A trapped man is a dead man when he's left to fend off his own mind.

A man sits in a locked room made of metal with a solid iron door and large arched celling a room made for the gods and the devil himself. There is only one window right at the top of the arch like the eye of a cruel god watching the man, mocking his miserable existence. The man sits on the floor with the light of the heavens cast upon him and the thunder of hell below him this chamber of steel, this cage of nightmares an ensnaring trap for the wild horrors that the world does not wish to see. There are scratches into the iron door with flecks of dried blood masking the rusting iron and painting the fear and desolation of the man in a violent red.

The man himself sits patiently his mind ablaze with rage and grief. They say that "The child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth" here is a room and a child who has known nothing but fear and loathing. A mountain of grief and a silent rage from those who abandoned him.   
Imagination made these walls a castle but now it is a tomb empty and cold devoid of life and love but still the man beats his fists against the walls, he screams, he begs and pleads to be freed. Those who abandoned him called him monster an abomination a mistake. So now he sits still and deadly like a tightly wound coil waiting. Waiting for the end. The eye of god may watch him and laugh at his pitiful soul and the thrum of hell below calls to him sinking its hooks into every inch of the mind till it can drag him below but still he sits and waits.

He waits as the walls of his chamber rust and creak with the slowness of a once grand ballroom fighting decay and death. He waits whilst the eye of God gets dimmer and the voices of hell hush to a quiet whisper becoming background noise like a bustling coffee shop on a winter afternoon.   
The man knows this is his home, his prison, his glorious monument and his tomb. His final rest will be taken here and this is where he will remain in this hollowed out hole of festering rot a cathedral of the unholy a cage for a monster.   
The people outside of his home speak not of him but of what he is; a broken man a shell of empathy and kindness a child who saw the world in a brilliant light only for the wax to be poured into his eyes by a world who does not keep kindness, the pain of grief of loss of family not through death but through disgust and hatred, fear of the other reflected through the self a fear of what is to come after he dies.

Will he be mourned? or will he be buried alive forever lost crushed under his grief and choked to death by his rage begging silently on screams that bare no sound and reflect something that is no longer human? 

A village sits beyond the four walls of an underground tomb made of metal and blood. It is peaceful and serene the villagers speak in hushed tones and strange voices of monsters and spirits.   
They pray to gods and curse the ground below them for the devil lives there. The passage of time has been kind to the villagers they awake every morning to the soft fire glow of the suns first rays that cast a blanket of love and warmth on all those who deserve it.   
They go to work and love and laugh, they dance and sing with hands raised to the sky. A golden light shining from them pure and bright, they kiss and paint they create and they make wonder from nothing.   
They hurt and weep they see horrors unknown and wish to share the story...how hypocritical. The people speak of a man deranged and violent they call him a beast they call him a monster and for what so they may go and create their own monsters? 

The definition of a monster is something that is no longer human or never was but what about a child who never got to be human?   
Branded a monster from birth and shunned whilst the village and its people worship the god that made him. They pray and chant they recount their own monstrous deeds in a holy building a home for the faithful.   
A just home.   
The palace of divinity has four walls and a roof, built as tall as the heavens beautiful only in view not in cause.   
Humanity always gives angels human forms they make them beautiful holy and just. They are a beacon of light an antithesis to sin and the things that go bump in the night. They make angels righteous and pure, they give them wings and halos and call them innocent. Demons are always cruel and capricious they are always sinful and dark they do not love and will never love.

The dark cannot swallow what is already its own creation that is to admit that there is a fault. These unholy people create monsters and ghouls they feed the fear and that feeds the dark they look to the light and hope to see themselves as holy and divine but they will never see that for they are blinded by ignorance the way a man deemed a monster can never see the light.

A man sits in a locked room, bleeding and praying in a room the gods and the devil have abandoned.   
Left to rot like a broken toy no-one wants to play with. He has screamed all his sins to the deaf god above and has sung his deepest sympathies with the voices of hell below.   
The cries of the man the monster go unheard to the village beyond his iron casket and the wreckage of human decay colours the walls in tally marks and blood. He has paid for his crime and sat patiently waiting on someone, anyone to help him but no one will.   
The man stands and looks up a silent prayer on his dying tongue the words of the heavens his church sung to him filling the faithless with holy vengeance died long ago as he struggles to remember formalities of the heavenly varieties.

The demons below whimper and mourn him for even they cannot stand to watch this once pure being of light reduced to a mere spark.   
They weep and wail and thrash desperately trying to save him they deem it a just cause.   
They scream and struggle and claw at the earth fighting to save him as the heavens do nothing but watch, intrigued and curious waiting with baited breath to see what is to become of their fathers greatest failure. 

The universes unyielding punchbag.

As he stands unholy and broken; alive dying and dead all at once the bellows of hell a symphony of grief and heartbreak the choir of heaven a deathly silence.   
The man destroyed and reborn of something other opens his mouth, eyes that were once warm now burning embers on an ever dying fire. Hands that once held with care and caution bloodied and bruised scarred much like the once bright and curious mind he possessed. A mouth that once smiled with the grace of the seraphs now a flatlined heartbeat in which the chasm of truth and sorrow opens to the heavens and to hell below. In a voice no more monstrous as a scared child he begs "Please".

A scream of things far more sinister than he sounds echo's around the room as the once sealed cage opens, the man falls to his knees and crawls his way to freedom as the screams of the unholy rejoice in celebration for he is saved.

A man stands in the centre of the village where the light of heaven cannot reach him and where the chorus of hell cannot be heard but he feels the warmth and love still.   
He walks and breathes and cries.   
The heavenly choir watches as he leaves the burned ruins of his tomb and he beats his fist against the earth and feels the air on his face.   
He walks with righteous fury to the village that abandoned him to the family that left him to rot. The echo's of the past now ashen and grey like the once golden sky of the town, he stands still and quiet as his hands bleed and he shakes. The fires of a once volatile town now give him shelter and kindness.   
He weeps and cradles his fragile soul in his hands and shows it the light of the burning village and it glows bright once more.

The horrified silence of the heavens stretches on for eternity as they are forced to lay witness to the horrors of man. A monster is not a monster until it is deemed so, they can be called beautiful, innocent, just, righteous and kind but a monster is not a monster until someone puts it 6ft under. The man leaves the burning town bleeding and broken but still holy still alive for he has been freed from his sentence an unjust crime of being born and now the village is touched by the child of the earth.

The man who has sung with hell and screamed at the heavens who walks with a fire in his heart and an unearthly glow from his eyes "The monster has burned the village" the heavens scream an agonizing wail that shakes all who hear it, the loving cries from hell respond in vigorous applause "And the child is home".


End file.
